


Of Monsters and Men

by MrsRen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Animal Death (one), Autopsies, Body Guard Draco Malfoy, Demon Tom Riddle, Depicted Violence, F/M, Guns, Iron? Iron., Pathologist Hermione Granger, Policeman Draco Malfoy, Policeman Harry Potter, Policeman Ron Weasley, Serial Killer, Stalking, Subsequent Victims, That Dumb Moment in Every Horror Movie Ever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-24 01:55:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17695394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsRen/pseuds/MrsRen
Summary: Following the grisly discovery that London is being haunted by a serial killer, Hermione Granger finds herself with a stalker that blurs the line between reality and horror. Draco Malfoy is assigned to protect her, but with every twist and turn, she wonders if fate will let her out alive.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt:**
> 
> Paranormal AU: Level 2 - await your surprise prompt. 
> 
> Prompt: Lately it feels like someone is watching. Or something. 
> 
> Author's note: This was written for the In Another Life fest hosted by the fabulous InDreams and Kyonomiko. This has been the best fest I've ever participated in and I think you'll immensely enjoy all of the entries!
> 
> The biggest thank you to TheMourningMadam who took so much time to comb through this piece and beta read it. She also corrected a lot of inconsistencies I was unfamiliar with. The morgue drawer was kept for dramatic effect, but let's be honest. They're unrealistic as fuck. TMM helped me when I was unable to write the conflict...so what I'm telling you the chapter 5 draft was a hot mess before she looked at it. Thank you for all you did!
> 
> Warnings: Depictions of Violence. Animal Death. Serial Killers and subsequent murders.
> 
> Feedback would be incredibly appreciated!
> 
> Iron? Iron.

 

* * *

Chapter One

A young, curly-haired brunette sat behind her desk, her ankles crossed over one another. The building had fallen silent hours earlier, and Kingsley had insisted she go home, but there was a mountain of paperwork on her desk to be sorted and filed.  _Sleep can wait._  Tomorrow was Saturday, and though she wouldn't dream of having a lie in, she told her boss she would.

On her desk sat the files of the recent autopsies. A slow smile curled across her face when she nearly jumped out of her seat when the phone rang, ripping her out of her thoughts of the possible weapon that would have caused the blunt force trauma of the photo in front of her. Ripping the corded phone from the receiver, she held it up with her shoulder. "Hello?"

"Hermione!" Her mother sounded joyfully pissed, her speech slurring as she yelled her name. "Why are you still at work? When you last visited me, you promised me that you would take some time off."

"Mother." Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. "Do you remember I told you in my last email two of my co-workers transferred to other morgues? I'm the only competent pathologist here now. Taking time off is the  _last_ thing on my mind."

Her mother heaved a sigh on the other side of the line. "You mean to tell me you are still at work at eleven o'clock at night," she paused, and Hermione could imagine her mother to be glancing at her watch, "staring at corpses?" her voice had escalated into a shriek, Hermione sighed and hung up.

No, her mother would not be happy when she spoke to her next, but she couldn't get a blasted thing done with her admonishment. She sighed, flipping the file open once more. She'd spent all day trying to figure it out, even calling Harry in so he could look - maybe there had been an object around the homeless man which could have caused the crushing of his skull, and the high impact blood spatter. A gasp tore from her mouth when she noticed a mark similar to another she swore she had seen recently.

Leaning back in her office chair while it creaked, her eyes widened. There on a magnified picture of the inner thigh, was what appeared to be a bite mark.  _Impossible._ Where there should have been one row of teeth, there were three, both on the bottom and top. Of course, it wasn't a bite impression at all, but that of an instrument.

"Fuck!" she growled, dropping the manilla file on her desk. Hermione stood quickly, banging her knee against the metal underside of her desk. Grabbing her white coat, and sliding her arms through it, Hermione removed her gold bracelet, leaving it to lay haphazardly on her desk. Her heels clicking against the tile, she hurried down the flight of stairs at the end of the room and made her way into the examination room. A familiar chill greeted her, a shiver slithering down her spine as she donned gloves before yanking all of the files Seamus Finnigan had processed before his transfer.

She found the one she had been searching for: Charity Burbage. The woman had been a professor, only thirty-three, and there were notations made that a struggle was evident. Her nails had been ragged and chipped - only that didn't fit, considering the woman never went a week without a manicure. Hermione wildly flipped the pages, stopping only when she found a picture of Burbage's inner thigh.

Her eyes widened, her heartbeat impossibly slowing, and she snapped the file shut. "Same bloody bite mark." Silently, she reminded herself that it wasn't a bite mark; no human, or animal had sets of teeth like the ones pictures. Certainly not any animals that could be located in London. She walked to the wall of steel doors, reaching forward, matching the tag with the paperwork.

She needed to see the impression with her own eyes before she raised a metaphorical alarm, and called everyone she knew. Hermione slid the door open, tucking the file beneath her arm before she unzipped the bag and peered inside. "Bloody…"

_London has a serial killer._

* * *

The police called Seamus and conducted an interview with him before they came to find her. Technically, it couldn't be classified as a serial killer until there were three deaths, which was the imaginary line in the sand.

Hermione hadn't slept. She hadn't been home to shower or change her clothes. Brewing a cup of coffee, she sat at her desk until sunlight trickled through the windows. Knowing she wouldn't be able to call for second opinions until at least eight o'clock that morning, she had spent the night searching through records.

In another borough of London, she learned there had been a similar death. In surrounding towns, much,  _much_  smaller towns, there disappearances had been reported at an alarming rate. Though she was no police officer, she  _was_ a valuable resource to them. Hermione lost count of the times Harry or Ron came to her when something didn't make sense.

As if the world were topsy-turvy , nothing about this case made sense. Hermione spent the witching hour on the internet, chugging an entire pot of coffee.  _No animal could possibly make these marks._

A disheveled Harry Potter threw the door open at 7:59, Kingsley Shacklebolt and Mad-Eye Moody hot on his heels. He took in the sight of her hunched over her desk. "Blimey, have you slept?"

Hermione shook her head and swallowed, gathering all of her notes, and condensing them into a very thin file. There wasn't much to go on at all. "I found other deaths, other disappearances that match the ages, and background of the current victims. I was collecting it for our interview."

Moody nodded, his good eye sliding over the file in her hands. "Let's go then. We'd like to bring you down to the police department to ask you some questions."

Kingsley nodded, sighing. "Go with them. I assume you've done about all you can here."

"Yes, sir," she agreed, grabbing her wool coat and slipping her arms into the sleeves while her boss held it out for her. Hermione followed Harry and Moody to the exit on the side of the building. Outside, a thin layer of snow blanketed the ground. Eyes wide as she wrapped her coat around her, she asked, "When did it start snowing?"

"Early this morning." Harry held her door open for her, putting his hand on top of her head out of habit so she wouldn't bump it against the top of the vehicle. Her friend slid into the driver's seat, pulling away from the curb. "Tell us what you found."

"It's not every night I get a call at midnight saying we have a serial killer." Moody said gruffly, stretching his hand behind the head rest and taking the envelope from her. "Gods, I thought you only had the night to put this together."

Harry snorted. "Our Hermione is brilliant." he bragged, turning to grin at her as he took the next turn. "Pathologist or not, she has a degree in criminal justice and psychology."

She shrugged, not liking the spotlight one bit. While she prided herself on intelligence and education, it was uncouth to draw attention to it. "Sir, my notes could be absolutely flawed."  _Doubtful._ "There isn't much to go on. In my initial findings of Dolores Umbridge - page eight if you please - I believed she had been bludgeoned to death."

"And now?" Moody rumbled, his one eye narrowing on her in the rear view mirror.

Hermione shook her head. "False original findings; it was only a theory at the time. She bled to death after her femoral artery was torn open, much like Charity Burbage - page four." Leaning forward, Hermione flipped through the pages until she found her written notes on page two. "It was strange because, while I found missing persons in the same age range…" she murmured, "I acted on a hunch, expanding the area I searched within."

The way Moody shouted "Dear Gods!" had Harry slamming on the breaks.

"What?" he snapped, waving at an elderly woman who'd laid her hand on her horn and wasn't letting up. "Fuck, don't keep me out of the loop like —"

Moody took a deep breath, and Hermione took the plunge. "I found five more victims within England, same mark, or signature." Uncovering it had thrown her for a jarring moment, and she quickly realized that time was of the essence. While she was not law enforcement, she worked hand-in-hand with them. "If it's acceptable, I would like to call pathologists from those regions as soon as I can."

Harry knew her personal policy of stepping on toes, and he leveled with her. "You never want to help."

"I'm a pathologist, not an officer, but I can help." she argued. "Whoever—"  _whatever_ , she thought morbidly, "—is not going to stop unless we catch them."  _It._

* * *

The next week moved swiftly for Hermione.

She returned to the morgue, and each day felt like she was waiting for another body to be wheeled in, though she fought such a pessimistic outlook. It wasn't her job to interview the family members of the victims, nor was it her job to scour the internet for more clues. It was a mystery; she happened to like mysteries, but she was discovering that she preferred fiction to reality.

On a Saturday, two weeks after the earth shattering epiphany, one week after the equally unnerving press conference to alert the public, the mayhem had evaporated. She still saw the headlines whenever she went for her morning runs:  _LONDON POLICE HITTING DEAD ENDS._  It gnawed at her.

Harry sent her information when he could; since it was usually abysmal, she knew he was holding back some. He had a life at home to attend to - a pregnant wife, and two children.

Hermione reassured herself time and again -  _knowing_  there was a madman on the loose made her look over her shoulder. She'd stopped running at night and early mornings altogether, and when she did venture out for a run, she kept only one earbud in, always vigilantly listening with her other ear. Self-preservation , that's all it was. She was just following Moody's instructions to the public from the morning conference, one that had aired before the morning dew had dried.

_Constant vigilance. Women are at risk more so than men._

It made her stomach churn to go to the grocer alone. She lived  _alone_  and her mum and dad had already asked her to stay with them until the killer was caught. Considering there were no leads, Hermione could feel her hope dwindling and the fear setting in.

Sitting at her kitchen island with her laptop opened in front of her, Hermione held a wine glass between her fingers. Her mother was right - she was going to make herself sick if she didn't step away. Hermione's mother was the first, quickly followed by her father, to shout that Hermione would get herself killed if she insisted on chasing murderers. She had no business attempting Harry's job, no matter her credentials.

On that thought, Hermione slammed her work laptop shut, sealing away images of mauled and marred bodies. "I'm going to drive myself mad," she muttered, lifting her glass to her lips. She swallowed the remaining burgundy liquid as she slid off of the stool.

Hermione turned to set the glass in the sink. In her peripheral, she noticed a shadow moving along the sliding glass doors. Figuring it was probably Crooks, she pivoted to the side. Her scream died in her throat.

There, pressed against the glass, was a dark figure silhouetted against the bright moon behind him. It was most certainly a man - his height and broad shoulders a dead giveaway. The wine glass fell from her hands, shattering against the white tile flooring and slivers sliding into the grout. His eyes opened and -

 _Red?_ Crimson slits stared back at her. There was a nudge at her feet, and her throat closed up as she glanced down to see her beloved tabby. When she looked up again, the figure was gone. The only thought going through her mind was to call for help - call Harry, call  _everyone._

The glass of the sliding doors and the window above her sink shattered inwards, Shards of glass slicing into her forearm. A scream finally tore free of her throat as there a shadowy figure stood in her kitchen. Grabbing the knife from the block beside her, she held it in front of her. "Don't come near me," she threatened, waving the butcher knife.

It didn't listen; it took slow, predatory and deliberate steps toward her. Her blood, previously boiling with rage and fear, turned to ice as a smile curled where she imagined his face was. The shadow towered over her, impossibly tall. Hermione fumbled for her mobile, punching the numbers in quick succession. She could barely hear the emergency operator as bile inched its way up her throat.

"I need help; someone has broken into my home." she gasped.

The shadow grew wispy, its smile broadening and there was a low cackle, revealing three rows of teeth in his bottom jaw. She had an inkling that his top jaw mirrored its counterpart. Long, slender, tar-black fingers reached toward her, the nails resembling talons filed into points.

"Ma'am—" the woman continued in her ear, asking her questions.

Her mind was a complete haze - she couldn't remember her own address. She attempted to tighten her grip on the handle of the knife, only to realize it was gone - seemingly into thin air. "What do you want?" she whispered, backing toward the countertop as one nail slid below her eye.

It stung as the skin parted, as if he bore razors for fingers. His smile didn't fit his face, and it didn't reach his eyes. "Hermione…" he growled, and her heart stopped at the low timber. "Do you believe in monsters now?"

Consciousness eluded her as she crumpled to the floor, paralyzed with fear as the pleased cackling echoed in her ears along the dispatch on the other end of the line.

* * *

She woke to find herself propped against someone. As it rushed back to her, she shot up, chest heaving as she looked around.

"Woah, calm down. I've got you, Hermione." Harry tugged her back to lay her head in his lap. Upside down from her perspective, his brows were furrowed. "Do you remember anything? What they looked like, maybe? Did they say anything?"

She bit her bottom lip hard. "I...Harry, you'll think I've gone mental." Hermione whispered, looking over to see police officers making their way into her home, some already coming out. "Where is Crookshanks? He was there when…"

Harry smiled. "He's okay. He's refusing to leave Malfoy alone."

She sniggered before her smile fell. "I can't give an accurate report, Harry."

His face darkened, eyes narrowing in frustration. "I don't think I need to tell you that you're currently the best lead we have. I want to find who did this to you."

Her mouth dried as she realized Harry didn't think - at least he didn't yet - this was the work of their serial killer. Of course not, considering she was alive. "It was almost like he wasn't...human." she struggled to get the words out. She didn't want to say aloud that it had been a creature, not a man, but how could she tell the police a shadow stalked through her kitchen and that he had blades for fingers? They'd think her barmy.

"Like he was physically taller, bulkier?" Harry prompted.

She squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head. It had been lean. "Harry, it felt like something out of a horror movie."

He rubbed her shoulder. "That's understandable; you've been through a traumatic —"

Hermione shook her head."I know, but it was like a monster - a shadow." She braced herself for the criticism and for him to brush off her accusations.

"Have you been drinking?" he tread carefully.

She nodded. "I had a glass of wine, but you know me. It's not enough for me to lose my thoughts. He did say something before I fainted." Harry straightened behind her. "He asked me if I believed in monsters now."


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Lately, it felt like someone was always watching.  _Or something_. Hermione knew it was the latter, but she warred with herself, pushing herself further and further into denial. It could have been the wine. Maybe she'd drunk more than she remembered. There wasn't a rational explanation for it, for her to believe she'd seen a smokey entity in her kitchen.

And yet, her windows had been completely shattered—those on the door and all along the walls of her kitchen. If she had been suffered a drunken hallucination, how could this be explained away?

Her mother called, full of reassurances that she would be okay, but there was something lurking just below the surface of her voice. Her father called next, his voice weary as he pleaded with her to stay with them until the police could find who broke into her house. Hermione declined, but had a newer security system installed in her home. She'd given personalized codes to her parents, Harry, Ron, and Kingsley.

Giving her boss a code felt strange at the time, but she explained that - should she not show up for work - he shouldn't wait for police. Kingsley agreed, memorizing the four digit number in front of her before feeding it through the shredder in his office.

"Would you like to take time off?" Kingsley asked, his gaze flickering over her shoulder. He waved off his own question. "I already know the answer to that, but I think you should take some time away from this, Hermione."

She sighed, rubbing her temples. "Perhaps, after we find the serial killer." Hermione murmured, not missing how he flinched at the term. She preferred it to whatever they were calling him in the media. Giving him a nickname gave him attention, popularity, and most of all, it gave him power.

"There were reporters on our front door this morning." he said, changing the subject, idly twirling a ballpoint pen between his fingers. "They want to speak to you."

Her nose wrinkled in disgust. "Why?"

He shrugged. "You know them as well as I do; if it bleeds, it leads. You're the one to make the discovery."

"Moody should have never mentioned that. There was no reason for him not to take the credit. All I am is a pathologist - it's not my place to speak to the public." she sneered, her fingers tracing the upholstery of the back of the chair beside her.

He chuckled, eyes flashing. "You just don't want to speak to Rita Skeeter."

She glared at the mentioning of her name. " She's a shitty reporter." Hermione grumbled. "I'm not sure why my life was ever intertwined with her articles - again, I'm only a pathologist. There are several in this city."

He leaned back in his chair. "You were romantically involved with a high ranking police officer, Hermione. You solved a high-profile case - one that he should have never shared with you in the first place.  _Of course_  she's sniffing around you now after your home was broken into."

"It was a rhetorical question, you know that, right?"

He smirked. "Of course I did. Your sarcasm is never lost on me. She asked me this morning if the killer broke into your house because you stuck your nose somewhere it didn't belong." The  _again_  was implied. "Purely to satiate my curiosity, did you?"

Hermione shook her head. "I wish I had. At least police would have something to lead with."

Harry was loud in his insistence that he would find who had terrorized her the week prior,  _and_  find a man who was driven by bloodlust. She couldn't bring herself to say they were one and the same, or that they were not searching for a  _man_  at all.

 _Denial!_  her mind hissed.

The door burst open behind them. Draco Malfoy stood in the doorway, cheeks filled with colour, and his hair out of place. Before either of them could say a word, he spoke, "Two teenagers found another body."

"Fuck." Hermione whispered, her eyes widening and her heartbeat thudding painfully in her chest.

* * *

No one was surprised when she stayed after hours that night. It was normal for her now, but there was a certain curiosity to it, a compulsion to  _know_. The deceased woman was still unidentified, and Hermione stood beside the metal table, taking a moment to envision the scenarios that had led the woman to her slab.

None of them were pleasant.

The woman's face was a mask of fear, layered with dried tears that had caused her make-up to run. Hermione didn't like her findings; the lack of a cause of death was disconcerting. The woman was found off a popular hiking trail, her lower half completely bare, her legs spread wide. The woman's knickers were still in place, and Hermione was certain that if this  _was_  the killer, he must have been about to leave his signature bite mark. The skin over her femoral artery was intact, and she could see bruising where hands had gripped her inner thighs in the struggle. Perhaps he'd been interrupted, but to leave a body without finishing his ritual —

Hermione squeaked as the sound of her mobile pierced the air. "For fucks sake, Granger, get a grip." She laid her scalpel down to be cleaned once she was back, peering into the wide open chest cavity for a brief moment. There would be toxicology tests to run but she had the theory the results would come back negative as the other two. Disrobing from the impervious paper gown and pulling her nitrile gloves from her hands with a  _snap!_ Hermione dropped them into the biohazard container and made her way up the stairs.

Her phone cut off before immediately ringing again. Hurrying around the desks, Hermione grabbed her phone from the pile of paperwork. Ron's name appeared across the screen and she held it to her ear. "Hello?"

"Fucking finally, an answer!" he breathed. "What are you doing?"

"Autopsy." she responded, sitting in her chair. "What could you possibly need this late?" Hermione pulled the lower drawer of her desk open, propping her feet on it.

He groaned. "But It's so bloody late…"

She laughed, running her fingers through her hair. "And yet, you're calling me and not to lecture me working late. What can I do for you, Ronald?"

"I want to propose to Lavender." he blurted.

There was a long pause. "Are you calling me for permission? Ron, you don't have to ask me before you make any moves in your life. I'm not your girlfriend anymore."  _Or your fiance_ , but they'd agreed to never bring that up.

He laughed. "No, I'm not asking you for permission. I'm asking you for help."

She rolled her eyes, smiling at her friend's sigh. "Ron, she adores you. No matter how you ask her, she's going to say yes. You realize that, don't you?"

He sighed. "Of course. I've planned what I'm going to say already, but I'd like you to look it over."

Hermione giggled, covering her mouth to muffle the sound in the quiet office. "Of course. Is that all?"

"No," he grumbled, and she could just imagine his grimace as he asked for help. "I'm going shopping tomorrow for a ring. Care to go with me? You're a woman."

"Astute observation."

"Sod off, I just mean you'll know what she'll like."

She found herself nodding. "Sure, we could go on my lunch break? Can you leave at the same time?"

"Sounds good; I'll pick you up. Hermione?"

"Hmm?"

"How much longer will you be there?"

Hermione fell silent. "Not much longer. There's just something about the body that doesn't make sense." She admitted. A loud metallic clanking sounded from the examination room. "Hang on, something fell downstairs" Rising from her seat, Hermione slowly made her way down.

"Doesn't it cross your mind that if you're in a morgue, and there's a sound, maybe you shouldn't check it out?"

She scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous. It's probably just a metal viscera bowl. I'm the only person here." Her optimism was only slightly betrayed by the fact that she'd looked over her shoulder the entire night. Shadows made her jumpier since the encounter with the shadowy monster. "Well, the only one who's alive."

Ron groaned at her deadpan humor. "I don't know how you do it."

Her lips curved. "I'm desensitized to this sort of thing by now, Ron." She flicked the lights on once she opened the door, letting it click into place behind her. "Just think of what sort of ring you want to give Lavender, would you?" Hermione bent to retrieve the metal container that had fallen. "What the hell," she muttered under her breath.

It had been on a shelf, carefully placed there by her half an hour earlier. The hair on her arms stood. "Ron," she whispered, standing. "Will you stay on the phone until I leave?"

"What's wrong?" he asked, all of the previous mirth gone from his voice. She heard his keys jingling in the background. "'Mione—"

She stared at the wall of morgue drawers, an eerie feeling coming over her as if ice water had been dumped over her head. "Hang on, just hang on." She whispered, turning back to the exit. "I'll just go home. My nerves are playing with my mind, if I'm frightened over nothing." Hermione reassured herself aloud, but Ron didn't believe her.

"You've just been attacked —"

His voice was cut off by her scream as one of the drawers slammed open. Her eyes widened in abject horror, taking in the now-recognizable figure - now corporeal. A tall man with dark hair glanced up at her, his mouth bloodied as he raised from the latest victim's inner thigh. Hermione knew without seeing it that there would be a tear in the flesh there now, one that wouldn't be visible in the  _before_ pictures she had taken.

His voice was a snarl that showcased rows of teeth, just as sharp as his nails. "Hermione…" he called, mocking her, hopping down from the table.

"Oh, my God." Hermione choked.  _This isn't happening, not again_. "Stay the fuck away from me!" She went for the handle, twisting it and yanking her hand away as it burned the inside of her palm. Ron was still shouting in her ear. "Ron," she swallowed, her back flat against the door as panic raised her voice an octave. "Someone's here! In the morgue!"

The man stalked toward her, lifting her chin as her eyes welled with tears. "Did you know I can smell your fear?" he murmured, his tongue darting out and she was horrified to see it was split. Wearing the skin of a human man, with dark eyes that stared unforgivingly down at her, he bent over her.. "I wonder what it will taste like."

She screamed.

* * *

As she awoke, the steady beeping of a machine keeping time with her heartbeat told Hermione that she was in the hospital. The familiar smell of antiseptic met her, and she recognized the familiar tug in her arm as an IV. Still, she kept her eyes closed so she could effectively eavesdrop.

"She didn't say who it was?" Harry asked, his hand finding hers beneath the itchy hospital sheets.

Someone cleared their throat, and then she heard Ron's voice. "Mate, I couldn't get her to respond to me. She was screaming at the top of her lungs. It was all she could do to tell me someone broke in. I don't know  _what_  she saw."

Harry muttered something under his breath, squeezing her hand. "If she saw him desecrating the body, she would have fought him - she's always been protective of the dead."

 _Of course I am._ She wanted to roll her eyes. All dead deserved respect, but the murdered deserved for the truth to be uncovered.  _Desecrated?_

She groaned, pulling her hand from Harry's as she sat up in the bed. Ron rushed to prop pillows behind her, worrying over her as he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. "You know," she rasped, her throat raw, "I'm quite tired of fainting. "

Harry chuckled, pulling a notepad from his coat pocket. "Do you know what day it is?"

She glanced to the sunlight trickling in through the window. "If it's not the 16th of October, I will be incredibly upset." The thought of losing one evening of work was perturbing; the thought of losing  _days_ would make her incredibly cross.

He smiled. "Correct. Before the doctors come to kick me out of here, is there anything you can remember?"

She swallowed, looking between the faces of her two best friends - both relaying worry-laced hope. "It was him, the serial killer."

"Fuck." Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. "I thought as much. Go on, how did you know?"

"He was…." she broke off, her heart hammering in her chest.  _This isn't me—I'm never afraid of things like this._ "He was inside the examination room,  _inside the drawer of his last victim_. He hadn't left the mark at her femoral artery yet, so my best guess is he came back to finish the job."

Harry nodded. "Kingsley gave me your report. After you were brought here, I watched the camera footage."

She could have sighed with relief. He wouldn't think her mental if he had seen the towering man with claws for hands. He would understand. Finally, someone else would  _know._ There was another question burning in her mind however. "Did he stay - after I fell unconscious?"

She knew after all of their years in school together, as friends, that he was reluctant to respond. "I don't know how long he was with you. The footage was tampered with. The last thing I saw was the drawer slamming open."

No _, no._ She stared at him, her jaw slack. "How is that possible? Harry, fuck, that  _can't_ happen. There are fail safes in place for instances such as these. You have to double check, you have to—" The machine to her right beeped more persistently, and Harry settled a hand on her shoulder.

"I checked everything. The back-ups failed, Hermione." His eyes darkened as he nodded his head toward the door. Ron crept behind him, locking it and shutting the blinds. "We need to discuss what happens you were attacked in your home, it was him, wasn't it?"

"Harry, you'd think I'm mental."

He shook his head. "This is not the time for that, Hermione. You weren't drinking last night and you hadn't drank enough that night to cloud your judgment. I need to know what you saw."

She winced. "A shadow, Harry. That's all I can say. He was pressed to the glass and his eyes were—were red." She stumbled through the admission, knowing full well how mental she sounded. "Last night... _it_  was a man, and his mouth was bloody when he got off of her."

Ron sucked in a sharp breath. "Bloody hell, 'Mione, you're shaking."

Hermione laced her fingers together. "You're looking at me like you pity me, Harry. Why?" She didn't miss the way her two friends exchanged a glance. "Tell me."

"The cut you had beneath your eye - your legs are covered in similar cuts." he told her quietly and she blanched. "For the record, I didn't see this with my own two eyes. A doctor took the photograph and shared it with me since I was the next emergency contact after your parents."

He handed her a photo, conveniently passed upside down. As she turned it over, her face drained of colour. With a sob, she realized that there, was a bite mark that  _would_ scar with six rows of teeth. If she compared it to victims, she had no doubt that it would be the same. "He treated my body like a personal toy when I couldn't fight."

Harry nodded, his jaw clenched. "I know you're independent, and I know you hate feeling weak, but this is not the time - you are not safe. He's fixated on you now, and I think he'll come back, Hermione."

"For me?" she asked, but she already knew the answer.

"For you." Harry repeated. "There is going to be an officer with you at all times. He's moving in with you as soon as you leave this room. He goes where you go. Hermione, if only for the sake of my sanity since you never put self-preservation first,  _do not fight him_."

She nodded, her eyes dropping to the photo. "Who are you putting on me then? If it were either of you, you wouldn't be giving me a lecture."

Ron turned away from the conversation, clearly not agreeing with the choice. Harry rolled his eyes. "Draco Malfoy. I trust him to keep you alive."


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

She knew Malfoy from a childhood rivalry—one that had spanned nearly their entire lives, from first year all the way until they went their separate ways, he to police academy and she to university. Hermione had already asked Harry if there was another option - anyone besides Malfoy. With a smirk on his face, Harry reiterated his previous answer of, " _No, he's best suited for this."_

That was that. Harry wasn't going to change his mind and she didn't care to try. Malfoy was a good police officer, brilliant - though she was loathe to admit it. More than once, Harry had told her how he'd be dead without him, and that was good enough for her. In their teenage years, Malfoy had once called her a know-it-all cunt, earning him a broken nose after an expert uppercut on her part. But they had come a long way since then.

Just not far enough to be on a first name basis.

"Right through here is the loo," Hermione motioned toward the last door at the end of the corridor. "You can move whatever you want into the spare room to the right of it," she continued, leaning against the wall as she slipped her heels off. Hooking her fingers through the straps, she left him. Back in the kitchen, she put the kettle on, stretching up to pull two mugs from the cabinet. Her window was fixed, the sliding doors too, but each time she stepped into the kitchen, there was an overwhelming sense of unease. Her home wasn't safe, her morgue wasn't safe…

"Do you ever clean your bloody bedroom?" Malfoy asked from behind her.

Hermione screeched, jumping and tossing her mug in the air. She whirled around to yell at him and found him casually leaned against the island while tossing the purple mug she'd thrown. "It's cruel to sneak up on someone who has been attacked twice." she panted, taking the cup from his extended hand.

"Well," he drawled, looking around the room, "your being scared easily is why I'm here. Plus the fact that the attacks have caused you to be unobservant. I wasn't silent, Granger - you should have heard me. You were too busy staring at the window as if it was about to shatter."

" _Again."_ she swallowed, eyes darting back to the glass to be sure it was still intact. "Why were you in my bedroom?"

"Where else would I put my things?"

"I told you to put them in the guest room."

He snorted, bracing his hands on the island while she waited for the kettle. "I'm going to be honest with you. I can protect you, but both times this madman broke in to terrorize you, you got away on sheer luck. He's playing with you like you're food. I'm not going to risk sleeping across the hall while you're a sitting duck that plays to her shyness."

He wasn't baiting her into an argument - there wasn't one to be had. His eyes were dark as he stared into hers, daring her to say something. Hermione simply nodded. "I understand. "

"Glad we could clear that up." He looked over to the counter, his brow arching. "You don't clean your bedroom, should I assume all of the knives are dirty as well?"

She stared at the empty block, the mug slipping from her fingers. He caught it,  _again_ , but only stared at her in surprise. "I didn't," Hermione shook her head. "I didn't use those."

Malfoy took her hand, pulling her from the room. "Did we take them when we were here that night?" he asked her quietly. At the shake of her head, his nostrils flared. "Right. I'm going to search the house.  _Stay close."_

Hermione nodded, cupping her hand over her mouth. She wondered when it would end,  _how_ it would end. She was silent, save a whispered instruction for him to step over a creaky step on the stairs. Upstairs was her bedroom, and he cast a dark look her way that made it clear he was furious she thought he was meant to be so far away from her.

Malfoy checked the office first, the closet, and nothing was out of place. He checked her bedroom next, and beyond his suitcases laying on her bed, there was nothing to report. A sound thumped from her master bathroom. "It's probably just my cat. Do  _not_  shoot my cat."

"Look, if there  _is_  anyone in here, or if it's ever me or you, you run. Understand?" he whispered, gripping the handle of his gun instinctively.

She flinched at the reality. "I couldn't leave you."

"It's not a request. You'll run because if you don't - and I don't die - I'm going to murder you myself." he snarled, his hand going toward the doorknob . The door swung in, and he stepped inside the small bathroom. A large orange tabby purred and rubbed himself against Malfoy's legs. "Thank fuck." he muttered.

Hermione stepped past him, knowing Malfoy would still be wondering about the missing knives, just as she was. She'd never invested much in intuition, but something in her gut told her to tear the shower curtain back. , She stumbled back, gasping as she moved to escape the room.

Malfoy caught her, gripping her forearms as she turned into him, burying her face in his chest.

There, on the wall of her shower, was an orange cat that looked exactly like Crookshanks, nailed to the wall with all of the knives from her kitchen.

* * *

She didn't sleep that night, or the following night. Malfoy didn't say anything as she sat in the middle of her bed, her work laptop flipped open in front of her while Crooks curled up in her lap.

He had been in the same house as her cat, and could have easily…

Malfoy had finally asked how she knew it was the serial killer that night in her kitchen, and she'd murmured he wouldn't understand.  _How could he?_  Harry and Ron reluctantly believed her because they didn't have a choice. Malfoy was sure to laugh off her claims, and she refused to be made a mockery of. He told her to try him, and she'd only turned back to her laptop.

On the third night, he brought her a sleeping tablet, a glass of water, and told her to get some sleep; they were locked in her bedroom, and he would be up all night. She would be safe. It was her first full eight hours of sleep since her living nightmare had started, and she woke to find him sitting at the foot of her bed, as awake as he'd been when she drifted off.

Then, on the fourth day, the unrelated autopsies began to mount. She had difficulty focusing on the bodies before her, the drive to find some clue on the serial killer case haunting her.

In the examination room Malfoy would relax, only marginally, but he would read while she moved around bodies. If it were Ron - she found herself comparing the blond to her friends often - he would have already complained about having to watch an autopsy. Police officers had no business being squeamish.

Her mobile rang, and he held it to his ear, still flipping through a text on proper autopsy protocol. "Hermione Granger's phone, Detective Draco Malfoy speaking."

She rolled her eyes at his smirk, sitting in the rolling chair as she typed her credentials into the computer. "Who is it?"

"Potter." he mouthed. "What?" his voice had hardened, and his eyes narrowed on her. "You're fucking shitting me, aren't you?"

There was a garbled reply at the other end and he hung up. "What is it?" Hermione asked, twisting in the chair to face him. "Malfoy, what's —"

"They're bringing a body here right now." he snarled, pinching the bridge of his nose. "It's him, but that's not why I'm angry."

She kept silent, her hands trembling as she folded them in her lap. Malfoy was infinitely temperamental, sure, but he generally had reason to be.

"She's younger, your age."

She blinked. "A change in victimology..."

His gaze darkened protectively. "She looks just fucking like you."

* * *

On the outskirts of London proper, there was an abandoned asylum - a veritable stone fortress called Azkaban. She had entered it once on a dare with Ron and Harry - an experience she was loathe to revisit. The thought of Azkaban sent chills down her spine and sucked the air from her lungs. It was in that dank, decrepit hospital that a group of teenagers had found the body of the killer's latest victim.

Malfoy couldn't meet her eyes when she peeled back the white sheet and found her doppelganger staring back at her from unseeing eyes. The woman's hair was curly, untamed like hers. Her fingernails were cracked, caked with dirt and blood as if she'd tried to crawl away from the monster.

Her face was the most disturbing part of it all. It was frozen in fear, and there was dried blood that ran down her chin. "She bit her tongue off." Hermione spoke softly. "I don't think she wanted to succumb to him."

Malfoy nodded, what little colour he had draining from his face. "I'll be in the corner, pretending I don't exist."

The corner of her lips lifted. Hermione made the Y-incision, dragging the scalpel from either shoulder, around her breasts and then straight down to her pubic mons, opening the body for her perusal. Though he didn't look her way at the sickening  _crunch_ the breastplate made as she clipped it away from the rib cage, there was something to be said for the fact that he could still drink his coffee and eat a breakfast bar as she worked. Then again - "Malfoy, you  _cannot_  eat in here." she snapped. "Throw it in the rubbish bin, or get out."

Not about to leave her, he grumbled an apology and threw it out.. Before she could tell him to, he washed his hands in the basin and reclaimed his seat. "Anything out of the ordinary?" he asked, curiosity colouring his tone.

"Not yet." she muttered.

"Anything I can do to help?"

She glanced up at him. "If you'd like to, you can hold my tape recorder while I speak into it. It may go faster if you do. But you'll have to wear the gown if you come anywhere near here. Blood tends to get all over the place."

"Lovely." he said dryly. Malfoy stood, pulling a pair of gloves from the box labeled  _large_ , and held the tape recorder up. He nodded when he pressed play.

Clearing her throat, Hermione began, "Twenty-first of October, 2018. Deceased brought into the examination room at approximately 10:30 A.M. Cause of death is likely blood loss and asphyxiation associated with biting off her own tongue, but it's too early for a conclusion." she mouthed for him to turn it off. "Have you seen an autopsy performed? You're rather calm."

He nodded. "When I first became a police officer, my mother died. She was murdered to be more accurate. I muscled my way into the room; I wanted to see it done correctly."

"That's absurd. You should have never been allowed into the room."

"Money can do lots of things, Granger. Not to worry your head about it; he lost his license." he continued, leaning against the furthest worktop as she removed the organs. "I can see why Weasley hates coming in here with you."

She smiled. "It's not as if I invite him in here. He visited me once for lunch, and  _wandered in_. He was told to wait by my desk. I'm assuming he told you about that?"

Malfoy nodded, laughing lightly. "Oh, in vivid detail. I can see why he was scared. Can you imagine seeing your fiance covered in blood while she's holding organs in her hands? Not to mention, I've never heard his voice go as high as it did when he told us you laughed."

Hermione snorted, unable to control it. "Yes, he's never let it go." She looked down at the girl, grief sinking into the pit of her stomach. "Do you think I did something to change his victims? What made him target me in the first place? In a twisted way, it feels like it's my fault this girl is on my table."

He sucked in a breath. Malfoy never reassured her that she would be fine like her friends did. He refused to make promises he worried he couldn't keep, to deliver empty platitudes. "Then," he shrugged, "you help us find her killer. Make your amends, Granger."

* * *

If it had been anyone who knew her that was protecting her, they would have known she was going to sneak out. Harry would have called it the second she didn't want to use her shower because a cat had been murdered there. Though it did make her skin crawl, she'd been showering in there for the last several days - hardly a reason to stop now.

Hermione took her bathrobe into the guest room with her, and inside of the robe was her clothes. Dark jeans, a dark jumper, and a broken in pair of trainers. Realistically, she expected Malfoy to notice something was off with her, to ask her questions until uncovered the source.

He didn't.

Hermione left the shower running as she changed her clothes and slipped out of a window. The guise of a shower would give her twenty minutes before he broke the door down. Her keys tucked into her palm, she quietly unlocked her car, and started it. While a hybrid had always been the right choice for the environment, it's silence was a perk as she slipped away undetected.

Azkaban had been shut down nearly a century before, complaints of patient abuse rampant. It was a shell of what it had been, iron beds overturned, the walls graffitied, and there were rooms where mischievous kids - she knew because Harry and Ron had done it too - painted their hands in red and dragged them down the walls.

Hermione parked her car at the end of the long drive leading up to the structure. "This is still a horrible idea." she muttered to herself, grabbing the crowbar from the backseat. She locked her doors before making her way to the entrance, the bar heavy in her palm. The gravel crunched below her feet, and she could feel her phone vibrating in her pocket. Likely Malfoy ready to tear her arse apart, she rejected the call through the thin material of her denims.

It was a  _terrible_  idea. Still, the police were not hunting for a man at this point, and knowing what she knew, knowing she was the one he based his victims off of, it would not be fair for her to stand aside. Either way he would come after her.

The foyer hadn't changed in fifteen years. Still as rundown as it ever was, the once-grand staircase crumbled. Moonlight trickled through the glass, and the fact that the shadows made the furniture were not the shadow she feared brought little comfort. There had been crime scene tape on the door, and she tore it down with her fingers. They wouldn't find any incriminating evidence here. ,

The stairway creaked and she whirled around. A shadow slunk across the the room and her heart lurched into her throat.  _For fucks sake, it was the tree!_ The weeping willow outside swayed in the wind, branches scratching against the glass.

Crowbar in hand, she made her way through one room and then another. Each step made her want to turn back. "I'm a pathologist, not a fucking police officer." she grumbled. She'd repeated that statement to others on so many occasions and yet, here she fucking was, creeping in an abandoned crime scene.

In the sixth room off to the right beneath the decaying staircase, there were beds overturned. And in the corner, there was a spot where red blankets gathered, paper strewn across the room. Bile rose in her throat as she neared it, shining her flashlight on the space. The red she'd seen was blood, and the floor was covered. Glancing down, she realized she was standing in a puddle.

This was not like being in the examination room, a controlled space. The section of the room looked like a bloodbath, and the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. She needed to leave. This was a terrible idea, which she'd known before she even slipped out of her was she going to do? How was she going to solve the problem?

"I'm not a police officer." she whimpered, turning on her heel. The floor's slick surface slowed her, but it was a harsh shove that caused her to fall.

"Hermione, how polite you are to come to me, but don't you know the anticipation is all the fun?" his tongue slid out, forked and nearly stroking along her cheekbone. "Would you like to know how all of those girls died? Science can't reveal everything, love." His fingers slithered around her elbows. "I found their worst fears - all normal things: muggings, rapes, beatings. But you, sweet Hermione...I think you'd hate to die by drowning. We're alike in that regard, kindred spirits if you will." He leaned forward, his fingers wrapping around her elbows, lifting her up with inhuman force.

" _Run._ " It was a sinister growl in her ear.

Hermione tore out of the room, her feet sticking to the aged wood as she sprinted toward the front of the building. There was cackling behind her, echoing off the walls as she rushed down the steps, fumbling with her keys. Unfortunately, it was the same moment Malfoy pulled into the drive, blocking in her car, and he was  _livid._

"What the  _fuck_  is wrong with you, Granger?" he yelled, storming toward her.

"Don't, Draco, we need to go." she pleaded, but he didn't hear her.

"What is it?" he roared, shaking her by her shoulders. "Do you think your bloody indestructible? You're not fucking bulletproof, Hermione!"

She gripped his wrists. "We need to leave. He's here and just, you have to trust me!" She was knocked away from him by what seemed like nothing, the crowbar sliding just inches out of her grasp.

"What the fuck are you?" Malfoy hissed, and two gunshots rang out.

Hermione rolled onto her back, watching in horror as the all-too-familiar shape of an apparition became a solid man. His eyes were red, and unforgiving, and in his chest were two holes right where his heart should have been. The holes closed, and he offered a tilt of his head and a smirk. "You shouldn't yell at the gentler sex."

Her eyes widened as it inched closer, prepared to slide a talon through Malfoy's throat. "Get away from him," she sprang to her feet, pain lacing through her thigh and her ankle aching in her shoe - she must have sprained it. "Stay the fuck back."she hissed, gripping the heavy crowbar in her hands.

He flinched backward at the movement and she quizzically glanced down at the bar. It was only a theory, but considering that's all she'd been operating on since the start… Hermione swung just as he morphed into a screaming mist, vanishing before her eyes. She stumbled backward, and Draco caught her as she collapsed, falling with her.

Feeling as if she were boneless, he held her on the grass for a long moment. "I'm sorry." she whispered, unable to meet his eye.

"Is  _that_  what you've been dealing with?" he murmured, moving down to slide her shoe off of her foot. "It's a bad sprain; it'll swell more before it goes down. I'll carry you to the car and we can go to St. Mungo's."

Hermione nodded. "My car —"

"Someone can pick it up tomorrow. We need to get far away from here now."

"Distance won't matter." Hermione gasped. "Iron!"

He stared at her, his gaze flickering to the iron crowbar lying in the grass. "Holy saved my life with that!" Malfoy exclaimed.

She glanced down. "I shouldn't have been here from the start, and if I hadn't been, if anything…"

Malfoy smoothed a hand over her hair. "Stop. We're alive. I'll yell at you all about this later, I promise."


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

True to his word, he did yell for her after they returned to her home. Hermione took it in stride, wincing as she limped on her now wrapped ankle. Collapsing on her couch, she propped her foot up on a decorative pillow. "Are you going to tell Harry about tonight?"

He fell silent as he took a seat on the opposite side of the couch. "What the fuck would I tell him? That I almost got my arse kicked by a demon?"

She snorted. "Are you worried he'll think less of you for being on the losing end, or that he'll think you're barmy?"

He paused, standing once more and shrugging out of his jacket. Malfoy gripped the straps of his gun holster, laying it on her coffee table. "I was on the winning side, thank you." he finally muttered.

Hermione watched as he stretched, hismuscles visibly contracting through his shirt. "Then what do you propose we do?"

He sighed. "Fuck if I know.I'm supposed to protect you, you realize that?"

She nodded, resting her cheek against the soft cushion. "Of course. Is that what you're worried about, not being able to keep me alive? Draco, if it comes down to it and you have to choose between myself, and you, you need to get out of there."

His nostrils flared. "Now who's the mental one?" Draco snarled. "I'm not leaving you to that fucking  _thing_."

She shot up from her comfortable spot, her eyes widening as she stared at him. "He told me something when I was inside." Hermione breathed. It could be nothing, but there was the twisting in her gut that told her the contrary. "I need to go to the morgue." She hobbled away from the couch, grabbing her jumper from the hook by the door.

He gripped her shoulder. "Isn't one near death experience enough for one night?" Draco grumbled. "It can wait until tomorrow."

"I think I could discover who he is -  _was_." Hermione corrected, knowing that whatever was waiting at the other side of this mystery wouldn't be from recent times. Now she just had to find a thread and pull on it until the puzzle completely unraveled.

* * *

Draco sat across from her desk, shoveling Chinese takeaway into his mouth as she typed. "When are you going to tell me what you're looking for?" he asked. Once again, the night found them in the building, but he had made it clear the one thing they were  _not_  fucking doing was going down into the examination room.

Not after a demon crawled out of a morgue drawer.  _Fuck that,_  he hissed each night when she stayed as everyone left.

"You shouldn't speak with your mouth full of food." Hermione replied. She gnawed on the end of her pen, the cap already chewed beyond recognition and tossed into the trash. "I'll tell you when I find it."

"I could help, you know. It's not like finding people isn't part of my job description." he drawled, reaching for his water bottle. "You've been at this for days. When are you going to accept that you don't have to do everything on your own?"

She huffed, glaring at him over the edge of her laptop. "I don't want to talk about anything the bastard said to me." Hermione shivered at the memory, his tongue flicking out at her. "I just want him dead."

He snorted. "Harsh, Granger."

"He's going to drown me."

Draco froze, all casualness leaving him and he rolled his chair around to her side of the table. He lifted her chin with his knuckles. "I can help you. I can keep you safe if you tell me what's going on."

Her shoulders fell and she turned her computer toward him. "He...it was like he knew me, my fears." Hermione swallowed, crossing one leg over the other and staring back at him. "I've never believed in the paranormal; I've said it to Ron and Harry that monsters aren't real."

He wasn't following. His brows drew together. "Okay.."

"He asked me if I believed in monsters now." she whispered, her eyes beginning to water.

"Shite." he cursed, resting his hand on her knee. "Was that when you were in the asylum?"

She shook her head. "In my kitchen. In the asylum, he asked me if I wanted to know how those girls died; he told me science couldn't answer all of my questions." Hermione grabbed the first file off the stack on her desk. "The woman they brought in who looked like me. She did die by biting her tongue off and asphyxiating on the remnants. That's not all, though. She was buried alive." Hermione fidgeted, picking at her nails. "Ron looked into it for me. She had a fear of being buried alive."

"You're afraid of drowning, aren't you?" Fingers brushed against her knuckles.

"He told me in Azkaban that we were the same in that - called us kindred spirits. It was fucking creepy, but I know what he plans to do. I don't know when, but every time I step into my bathroom…"

He cracked a wry smile. "I could go with you while you take a shower."

She didn't laugh. "I know what you're trying to do, but it won't make me feel any better. I've been searching for past drownings, but so far there hasn't been anything."

"It's not your job to kill him. For all we know it's not even possible."

Hermione glanced over his shoulder, wary of the shadows being cast by the desks. "No one deserves to be killed by their fears, Draco."

He raked his fingers through his hair, swallowing roughly. "Then let me help. I have more access than you do."

* * *

Draco didn't find who they were looking for, though he put forth a valiant effort. They worked together, and she sat with him in his office during the days that followed. Still, their searches yielded nothing and she was close to giving up finding even the tiniest hint, when the impossible happened.

There were days that went by as the case quieted, London's hysteria calming with each day without a new victim. Hermione was on edge, glancing over her shoulder, and tucking Malfoy's spare gun into her purse. Both were fully aware that she was not licensed to carry a firearm and the consequences for him would be dire, should the need ever arise for her to use it.

Draco had prepared for the inevitable in other ways: he'd visited a man in the seedier side of town who went only by his surname - Burke. The man had asked no questions as he slid a stack of books across the counter. In a hollowed out portion of an old book of fairytales rested a drawstring bag, filled with specially-made bullets. Draco took the bullets from the gun he'd given her, replacing them while murmuring "iron," as he pressed the heavy piece into her palm.

Her purse was at her side even as she sat in her living room, scrolling through web page after web page. If the access granted by their employers turned up very little information, she didn't have much hope the internet would do much better.

Still she typed in:  _Young, brunet man drowns. 1940's._

She and Draco operated under the assumption he was far older than she initially guessed. Whenever he was corporeal, he fit the style for the decade, and there was a certain swagger he held that had a seemingly vintage undertone. Pressing enter, she rested against the back of the sofa.

Her eyes widened as a photo appeared on the right hand side of her screen. "Fuck."

_Tom Marvolo Riddle Jr - Accidental Drowning or Foul Play?_

_On Halloween in 1948, authorities were alerted to a 999 call where a young man had drowned._

Her fingers shook as she raised them to her lips. Hermione read of how they thought it was Riddle Sr. who drowned his son, how later it was released that his ankles had likely been bound. There were rope marks around his ankles, slicing into the flesh as if there had been concrete blocks strapped to them.

Hermione screamed for Draco. She'd set her laptop on the table, jumping to her feet as her eyes refused to leave the chilling photo. His lips curved into a smile, one that didn't reach his eyes. It was a photo of him while he was in university, and the man who stood behind him must have been his father.

Malfoy rushed into the room, breathing heavily. "I didn't think I needed to say to only scream if you're being murdered, but Granger —"

Hermione whipped around to face him, almost bouncing with anxiety. "Did you jump out of the shower? There's still soap in your hair." Not to mention, all he wore was a towel slung low around his hips and his gun was clasped in his hand..

He glared at her. "I thought you were about to be violently murdered, so  _yes_ , I jumped out of the shower. You're lucky I even grabbed a towel."

If Riddle's face hadn't danced behind her eyelids, she would have laughed at Malfoy's frustration. Hermione braced the laptop against her chest as she showed him her findings. "His name is Tom Riddle. His father was never formally charged, but I'm almost positive his father drowned him."

"I could fucking kiss you, Granger." Draco leaned forward, water sliding from the ends of his hair. "I'm an idiot."

She blinked. "Normally I wouldn't dispute that, but care to explain why?"

"There was a fire in the fifties in the records room of the police department. It's no wonder neither of us ever found this: they kept the autopsy records and files for ongoing investigations in the same place until they relocated the morgue." He laid his gun on the side table. "Bloody hell, Halloween is in two days! Do you think the anniversary of his death has something to do with why he's terrorizing us now?"

Her throat was parched and constricted as she nodded. "I know we're acting on theories," Draco began. "Riddle says he wants you to drown, feels connected to you through a mutual fear. While he didn't strike me as the sentimental type —"

"You think it's going to be in that lake." she murmured as the final piece fell into place. "Do you think iron will kill him?"

Draco exhaled a long breath. "Fuck, I hope so. I don't fancy dying a grisly death quite yet." he replied, turning to face her. "How are you theorizing we kill him?"

She bit her lip. "I truly don't think you'll like it."

He smirked. "I'm not surprised. I think I'll finish my shower now."

In the end, long after his shower and while she was still staring hollowly at Riddle's photograph, Draco wouldn't hear of her going alone. There was a thought, a inkling, that if Riddle could finally get to her, she would be his last. There were be no more murders. While she didn't  _want_ to hand herself over to a demonic serial killer, she could drum up the courage to be a martyr if it meant future lives would be spared.

* * *

The world kept spinning on its axis: Ron and Lavender got engaged; bodies were no longer popping up with any unusual frequency. While the rest of the city seemingly hoped the killer was fading into the background, each sound nearly made her heart burst out of her chest.

Riddle had made it clear she was the endgame — his victimology had changed so swiftly and suddenly, it could only lead straight to her.

The gun in the holster around her thigh felt heavy as it nestled underneath of her dress. Ron waved to her from across the room and she downed an entire flute of champagne. Malfoy sat across from her, still fiercely protective of her. "You don't have to sit here with me all night," she informed him, taking another flute of champagne from a passing waiter.

His fingers were tightly gripping his scotch glass as he nodded. "Your best attribute is that you enjoy the silence as much as I do."

Hermione laughed, taking a long sip of champagne. "You're avoiding your ex-wife then?" He shot a mock glare in her direction. "Did you think I wouldn't notice? Astoria has been glaring my way all night. It would appear that she believes this to be the classic protector-to-lover cliche. Hilarious if you ask me considering  _I'm_ the one who saved  _your_ arse."

"Let it go, Granger." he warned, though he grinned widely at her words. "Would you like to dance?"

"I'm a terrible dancer." Hermione replied, shaking her head emphatically.

He stood in front of her, offering his hand. Draco nodded toward the floor. "I'll lead, and you can follow. I promise you'll have a good time."

She highly doubted that, but still, Hermione took his hand. He led her into the middle of the room, taking her hand and resting a his free one on her hip. "Are you worried about tomorrow?" Hermione whispered into his shoulder as he pulled her closer.

Malfoy nodded, swaying slowly with her in his arms. "You?"

"Terrified," she admitted as a shiver slid along her spine at the thought of coming face-to-face with a monster. "I've resigned myself to being dragged under water."

He shook his head, pulling her tighter against his chest. "I don't like the idea of using you as bait." Draco's voice was low in her ear, their position coming across as more intimate than it truly was.

Hermione couldn't say she liked the idea of being bait either, but it was her idea, and the only plan they had. "Do you remember what I said with how I'd want you to get out?" she asked. Her head tipped back as he spun her, twirling her while keeping a grip on her hand.

"I'm not leaving you. We either leave together, die together, or you get the hell out," Draco told her, pulling her into him and dropping down to face her.

As the song ended, Hermione smiled and leaned forward, brushing her lips against his. She moved to pull away, but his fingers slid into her hair. His tongue traced the seam of her mouth, and she was left breathless. "I wondered what it would be like." she murmured, her fingers sliding through his. "We could die tomorrow."

"How was it?"

She grinned. "Could use some practice."


	5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Though they were physically prepared, no amount of training could have readied them mentally for the monumental task that lie ahead. Chancing a glance at Draco, Hermione noted with a frown the way he was gripping the steering wheel tightly. She longed to reach over and brush her fingers over his knuckles - now white with his efforts - just as he had done at the beginning of their journey.

It was the first time she could recall ever seeing his polished facade falter: strands of his blond hair were disheveled from combing his fingers through it; dark circles framed his pewter eyes, evidence of his insomnia fueled evenings; his jaw was clenched into an unforgiving set - one she feared would surely crack his teeth. As they pulled onto the gravel road, his stare was deadly and calculated, sending a jolt of anxious foreboding through Hermione at the sight.

She felt she should say something -  _anything._ But what was left to say?

Their tentative relationship was in its earliest stages. An unshakeable dark thought lingered in the back of her mind that she may never see what that could have been - they had been so wrapped up and lost in one another since Ron and Lavender's engagement party. Spending time with Draco had served to assist her in losing herself and her fears - a feat she never believed possible.

In the still night, made bright by light of a full moon, his nerves got the best of him as he locked the car doors for a second over at her, a smirk curving across his lips, he teased, "I can hear you thinking from here. Care to share?"

Swallowing thickly, Hermione replied, "I'm afraid you wouldn't like what I have to say."

Draco chuckled, stepping into the winding curve that stretched between overgrown trees. "Unless you're going to tell me I haven't measured up to your expectations —"

"Don't be ridiculous!" she snapped, aghast at his insinuations.

Astonished, he glanced over at her with wide eyes. "Granger —"

Hermione had promised herself she would  _not_  cry. Her tears would be their downfall, would bring about their end. "I think you know very well that you've measured up to all of my expectations."

He shrugged noncommittally. "Shall we get a ruler, just to be sure?""

Hermione's glare effectively silenced him. Clearing her throat, she continued. "This may be the last time I get to speak to you...it would be remiss to waste it on something trivial, you know?""

Draco slipped his fingers between hers, squeezing her hand. "I'd like use my final words to you to state how truly disappointed I am that I never took you out."

She smiled at his attempt to lighten the mood. "And I am disappointed that I never got the opportunity to see what we could have been."

Draco did not have the heart to point out the blatant pessimism they both displayed in speaking as though their fates were already sealed. Nothing he could say would ever changed the morbid resignation they both felt at the possibility of imminent death.

* * *

It stood to reason that there were several ways Hermione could have gone about this differently. The number one thing was that she could have told Ron and Harry the extent of this case. They would have believed her, and they would have been here alongside her, walking down a desolate, aging pier —t _en minutes to the exact time Tom Riddle's life came to an end._

The second option — the one that had weighed heaviest on her mind in the last few days — could have been to leave Draco in her home. It would been so simple to crush a capsule — dissolve it in his scotch. He would have been fast asleep for the night. So simple that she currently wondered why she hadn't ignored her morals and enacted this plan.

"Do you think his father did it?" Draco inquired, his gun steadfast in his hand. The wind whispered around them, scattering the leaves in eerie swirls around them. The ominous ambiance sent chills down her spine. .

Moonlight sparkled on the lake's surface, and across the water,, sat a weeping willow along the lakeshore. Newspaper articles referred to it as the Whomping Willow a moniker earned after a branch fell and knocked a child unconscious decades before. The fact was on the tip of her tongue until she remembered he had asked her a question.

Hermione nodded her affirmation. "There is absolutely no doubt in my mind. Tom Riddle, Sr. murdered his only child in this lake — sent him to the bottom with cinder blocks trussed around each ankle."

Looking over at her, Draco lowered his voice to little more than a whisper. "Do you think he ever sought revenge on the man?"

There was no stereotypical gust of wind or screeching violins to announce his arrival, no dramatic shift in the atmosphere. Only a calm, collected voice from behind them."He died screaming, if you would really like to know."

Draco thrust her behind himself the second she turned on her heel, his fingers digging into her shoulder. Merely an apparition, Riddle's head peeked out from shadows that dripped onto the worn boards and spread in a wide breadth around him like a puddle of blood. "Was it because of your mother?" Hermione called, stepping forward against Draco's arm.

Draco shot her a warning glance.

The corners of Riddle's lips raised into a grin, as if he were delighted to hear her theories. "What do you know about my mother?" .

Hermione swallowed, her heart rattling in her chest. "I know that Merope Gaunt believed herself to be a witch. Your father made the mistake of discounting her claims and engaged in a sordid affair. Merope fell ill not long after giving birth to you, and you were sent to Wool's Orphanage as a result."

"You've done your research." Riddle sounded pleased and it unnerved Hermione to be complimented by the very entity that wished her dead.

"Miss Cole was terrible to you, I know that," she murmured in false sympathy. "She beat you with wire hangers, and you wanted to kill her."

Riddle immediately grew defensive."I didn't."

Hermione swatted away Draco's hand and stepping around him, ignoring his growl. Her hand hovered over her gun as she attempted to distract him. "When you appeared on your father's doorstep, he saw your mother in you. But, even more compelling, he saw himself in you. He knew  _exactly_  who you were."

Tom Riddle stared at her, shadows trickling off of the edge of the pier like spilled ink. "Do you know what happened next?" he asked in a hissing whisper.

Hermione's voice caught in her throat as Draco tugged her backward by her jumper. Riddle's form was becoming steadily more solid. His footsteps pounded against the rickety boards of the pier, echoing deafeningly into the night. Her lips parted though no words would come.

Riddle's ghastly grin grew wider. "His pretty, affluent wife believed my mother was a witch—she suspected that he'd been subjected to a love potion. He gloated of how he'd murdered my mother. I likely would have killed him for the betrayal of calling me his bastard. But his boasting —  _that_ , dear Hermione, is what sealed his fate. My mother didn't 'fall ill.'— she was poisoned."

Hermione's theories aligned pretty closely with his tale. Draco had heard enough. The shot from his gun rang deafeningly before —

A smirk slithered its way onto Riddle's face once more as he stepped to the side, tilting his head in mock fascination. "Did you not learn your lesson last time?" he taunted, his tone dripping with saccharine sweetness.

Her body broke through the surface of the water before she had time to register precisely  _how_. Riddle's body pressed into hers, pushing her under the surface in an attempt to drown invaded her lungs and they burned as they filled with fluid. As she thrashed, she attempted to find Draco's frame through the murky water — an impossibility, she soon realized.

" _Don't dive in,"_ Hermione previously implored Draco.

Nails bit into her flesh as Riddle dragged her deeper into the lake, the pain forcing her to clench her eyes and jaw tightly. Her lungs were on fire as Hermione fumbled to retrieve the knife she'd tucked in her coat pocket.

His nails sliced into her wrist like razor mouth fell open in a voiceless scream. Water continued to rush into her lungs and she could no nothing more than choke and panic.  _I need air._ Her head had been under for far too long. Her vision was beginning to haze around the edges as Riddle gripped her chin, forcing her to stare into the gloom, despite the saltwater that stung her eyes.

 _Only a moment — an illusion_ , she promised herself. The idea of corpses — swaying in the water, held in place by cinder block anchors, their eyes gouged free of their skulls — was an impossibilty.

As quickly as she could cut through the water, Hermione shoved the dagger upwards. She continued to thrash side to side while kicking and flailing her legs and arms. A mere moment of hesitation, then she realized the bladet had pierced just to the right of his heart, rather than through it.

Still, a single moment was all Hermione needed to escape. She left him momentarily stunned, fighting to break the water's surface. Her hands slapped against the dock and long fingers circled her wrists, jerking her up.

"Fuck," Draco hissed from between clenched teeth as he brushed the sopping hair from her face. "I was about to dive in after you."

Hermione would have glared, had she not been coughing so bloody hard. "Told you- not-to do that," Hermione sputtered, fetid water oozing from the corners of her mouth. "I stabbed him."

"Did you kill —" Draco's voice died in his throat.

With a proclivity for stealth, Riddle grabbed Draco from behind before he had the chance to react. , Dragging the familiar dagger just below his Draco's chin, Riddle inched the blade down in a taunt. The edge gleamed as it flattened against the hollow of his throat. "Does this answer your question?" As he sliced along his flesh with the blade's edge, a single drop of blood rolled down Draco's throat —scarlet against his alabaster skin.

She padded the front of her jacket before lunging forward. Her shaking fingers wrapped around the iron rod Draco had dropped. "Leave him out of it!" Hermione snapped with as much menacing hatred as she could muster. She swayed on her feet, her head swimming dangerously. Her heart was pounding in her ears and her sweaty palms made her grip on the makeshift weapon was mediocre at best.

With his head tilted to the side, his lips curled in a cruel grimace.

Draco fought in Riddle's tight hold. "Fucking run that thing through the both of us!" he screeched, his eyes pleading with her to end it now.

Drawing her lips between her teeth, Hermione trained her gaze on Draco's face. Emotions flitted across his features in turn —fear, worry, pain, resignation, begging.  _This will kill him. Unless…_

With her extensive knowledge of human anatomy, perhaps she could miss Draco's heart. Refusing to give it any more thought — as she would surely decide against this given a moment longer — she threw her weight behind the rod. It drove straight through his body, mere centimetres from his spine.

With a grunt, Draco's knees gave out and he slumped forward, Riddle's body falling with his. The boards of the pier bowed beneath their weight as Draco struggled to push Riddle away from himself.

 _It was too easy._ Her thoughts raced through her head as her breath came in short pants, and tears rolled down her face. "Draco?" she murmured. . Her hands still tightly gripped the rod and she sank to her knees, alleviating the awkward angle he maintained.

"Come here," he murmured, reaching across to cover her hand with his own. " He's dead, for sure. You were brilliant." Draco looked over his shoulder at the slumped form of the murderer. . "I'm not going to die, but  _do_ call for help, please."

Her hands trembled at the sight of Riddle's lifeless body. She retrieved Draco's mobile from his pocket, struggling to call the emergency line with quaking fingers. She recited the long-memorized address and stressed the need for immediate medical attention.

Hermione sniffled, wiping her eyes with the back of her hands. "I don't typically cry," she commented with a distraught huff. "You're not out of the woods yet — you could still die."

Pale strands of hair stuck to Draco's forehead as he shook his head. "I'm not going to die. All things considered, I think you managed," he moved infinitesimally wincing as he did, "not to stab anything of importance."

"But you're—"

"Bleeding? A hazard of the job, Granger. You're no stranger to blood." Draco shrugged, immediately regretting the gesture as pain sung in his chest. "I don't care much for being impaled, I must say. But, since we're stuck here, I have a question."

Hermione shook her head, pushing the hair away from his face. "Save your strength — talking needlessly is a waste of energy." She frowned as she took in the angle of the rod and the set of his body around it. "You made need surgery."

He sniggered weakly. "Your pillowtalk is much better when you're talking about what I can do with my tongue." Draco chanced a peek at her, running his thumb across her knuckles and leaving a swipe of blood in his wake. "We did things arse backwards, but would you like to go to dinner with me?"

Incredulous, her mouth fell open. " _What?_ "

Draco arched a challenging eyebrow. "Am I not as interesting? Now that you don't need me to protect you from serial killers and what-have-you?"

Hermione leaned down, eyes flashing and her cheeks reddening. " _I_  saved  _you_  the first time."

"And I would have given my life just now, so I believe you and I both know who won this time." Draco replied, the corner of his mouth lifting. "Are you avoiding the question?"

She blinked, battling with speechlessness at his odd timing. "No, of course not! But are you really going to ask me right  _now_?"

"What's the harm? Riddle's dead," he reasoned, gesturing over his shoulder.

Her eyes jerked to the space just behind him, making sure Riddle hadn't moved. Her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths as she stared for a long moment. The adrenaline was still coursing through her, unceasing until Draco would be whole once more. "You're completely insufferable, and I cannot believe I am about to say this, but yes."

Growing steadily weaker, he slid his fingers into her hair and brushed his lips against her temple. "You know," he groaned dramatically, "this really fucking hurts."

Sirens pierced the still night air just as Draco lost consciousness and Hermione laid his head in her lap.


	6. Epilogue

Epilogue

Draco chuckled against Hermione's lips, taking the keys from her hand and opening the front door. "Can I have my own drawer yet, Granger? I spend more time here than my own home."

She was positively breathless, pressing herself against him as he guided her into the house, kicking the door shut behind them and flipping the lock into place. "Why would you need that? You always bring a change of clothes anyway."

Draco pulled back, rolling his eyes. "Oh, yes, and that's gone over so well. You laundered my suit — thank you by the way — but your knickers got stuck to the inside of my jacket this morning. Conveniently fell out in the middle of a meeting, by the way."

Hermione giggled, her hand roaming over his shoulder. "Which pair?"

"Red lace," he groaned as she tugged his hair. "The ones I bought you."

She hummed as his hand cupped her arse through her jeans. "I like those ones."

He snorted, a devilish grin spreading across his face. "Well, now that he knows they belonged to you, so does Goyle."

Hermione pulled away, wrinkling her nose in horror. "Destroy them immediately," she commanded, a shudder running through her. "You can go upstairs."

Someone cleared their throat, startling the pair. "Excuse me," a man stood in the archway of her kitchen, arms folded across his chest. A long white beard hung from his face, and his eyes were twinkling as if he hadn't just broken into her house.

"Who the fuck are you?" Draco barked, hand drifting toward his holster.

The man held a peculiar familiarity for Hermione.. "Have we met?" she questioned, narrowing her eyes.. "Stop, Draco. I've seen him before."

"Forgive me, Miss Granger, for entering your home. I wasn't sure you would listen to what I have to say otherwise. This is yours?" He held up the thin notebook she'd been scribbling in since Tom Riddle's appearance.

She swallowed, nodding slowly. "You were in the police station when they questioned me. I didn't recognize you then, but Harry claimed he hadn't seen you."

"Albus Dumbledore," he introduced himself finally. "You seem familiar with Tom Riddle, judging by your meticulously detailed notes."

Draco deadpanned, "Unfortunately."

"Have you uncovered anything else?" Albus asked, flipping the notebook open. " _Are there others?"_  he read aloud. "There's a star next to this question. I assume you meant to come back to it when you uncovered more? Yet you haven't."

"No," Hermione confirmed, shifting uncomfortably on her feet.

He snapped the book shut, tucking it under one arm and clasping his hands together. "I've found myself with in a bit of a predicament, one closely related to Tom Riddle. There's a body in your examination room, irregular bite marks below the breast - are you aware?"

"Yes, I'm aware of the case. I'm not sure how seeking me out will help you."

Dumbledore's responding smile unnerved Hermione and she felt Draco tense behind her. "You killed Tom Riddle. I'm positive you can help us." He withdrew a large book from the inside pocket of his coat, taking a step forward to set it in her hands. "In this," he tapped the hard cover, "you'll find all you need to know. More about Tom Riddle — to satiate your curiosity — but, more importantly, about a demon by the name of Pettigrew."

Hermione shook her head. "I don't want to be involved in this. Once was enough." Draco's fingers trailed along her spine, a subtle confirmation of his agreement.

Dumbledore only raised his brow, staring at her from behind half-moon spectacles. "It's too late to turn back now, Miss Granger. You became involved the moment you assassinated Tom Riddle." He brushed past her, calmly ignoring her line of tempestuous questions as the door swung shut behind him.

Draco tossed the door open, and Dumbledore was gone, apparently vanishing into thin air. He turned to her, confusion and unease shaking his normally stoic features.

She muttered "If only I could've killed the bastard twice. We won't be going to sleep anytime soon."

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a long-suffering sigh. "Bring the book to the police station — we'll find out who the fuck Pettigrew is."

She nodded vehemently. "I should re-examine the body."

"Are you fucking kidding me, Granger? It's nearly midnight — have you not learned your lesson?"


End file.
